


The Sterek Dirty Dancing AU

by hoechlinitis



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Dancing happens so much, Danny (as Neil), Derek (Johnny), Dirty Dancing, Dirty Dancing AU, Erica (as Penny), Isaac (as Billy), Isaac (as Bobby), Isaac is Derek's cousin, It's literally the movie, Jackson (as Robbie Gould), M/M, Melissa is still a nurse, Peter is Peter Kellerman (as Max), Scott (as Lisa), Scott and Stiles are Brothers, The Sheriff and Melissa are married
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-08-14
Updated: 2014-12-05
Packaged: 2018-02-13 02:03:37
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 7,817
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2132946
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hoechlinitis/pseuds/hoechlinitis
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The sterek dirty dancing au that literally nobody asked for.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Peter Kellerman's Mountain House

**Author's Note:**

> I'd like to say a huge thank you to the lovely person who helped me with this, you can find her at ohcaptainstilinski.tumblr.com 
> 
> Heads up, i don't own the plot or anything you know the deal.  
> So i went to see the movie with my friend at this old theatre turned cinema and the entire night all i could think about was what if it was Derek and Stiles.
> 
> Tell me all your thoughts in the comments, and you can find me on my tumblr at hoechlinitis.tumblr.com
> 
> enjoy :-)

Chapter 1 - Peter Kellerman's Mountain House

"I still think I should of brought more shoes" Scott whines, wielding a hand held mirror. Where he pulled that from, Stiles' had no clue. The car was already piled high with bags of Scott's clothes and god knows what other stuff he insisted was imperative to his survival during the three week stay at Peter Kellerman's Mountain House. It wasn't much of a surprise when Scott pulled out a comb from the side pocket of a duffel bag lodged behind the back-seat headrests, and continued to restyle his hair in the five centre meter wide view of his own reflection.

"Yes, God forbid Scott doesn't have the right pair of shoes to match his outfit" Stiles' scoffed, cocking his head as he caught the Sheriff rolling his eyes in the rear-view mirror, albeit fondly. Stiles' remembers the first time his dad brought them all up to his favourite mountain get away. He and Melissa, a highly stationed nurse in their local hospital, only three months married and still head over heels. Scott, Melissa's son and Stiles' favourite step brother, not that he had any other siblings but it didn't hurt to be nice. Scott's enthusiastic complaints about everything and anything that Stiles' found utterly unconvincing. 

Yes, the first visit as a new family had looked to be a disaster, but they ended up having fun. If their family dance routine wasn't bonding enough, Scott went ahead with his end of the show solo. Now something of a habit that never ceased to embarrass. Looking back on it, Stiles' wondered if he would ever find as good a man as his own father. The way the sheriff managed to cajole all of them to even leave the cabin. His bright smiles and infectious can-do attitude. His reluctance to ever take off his badge. _No_ , Stiles' thinks. _Nobody as good as him._

"Boys, we're here!" Melissa chirps from the passenger seat, clapping her hands together excitedly. Stiles' smiles, feeling excited too. It wasn't the greatest place in the world, it didn't have the best weather and it certainly lacked in attractive staff last year, but this place was like a second home.  
As the Sheriff turned right, leading them down a long winding gravel road, Stiles could do nothing but admire the place. Lush, stark green grass dotted with groups of holiday folk. Stiles watched curiously as an instructor taught a group of forty something’s what looked like a simple dance routine, but for them seemed more of a bumble of limbs and light footwork. _Ah yes_ , Stiles thought, _a second home full of talentless old people_. Before Stiles got a chance to ask his dad something mildly inappropriate about the age limit of their home for the next three weeks, the car rumbled to a stop.  
"Oh my God. Look at that" Scott called, his eyes clinging to the backside of a guy clad in a staff uniform, carrying the piles of junk these people thought they needed. "Mom, I should have brought those other shoes. You said I was taking too much." Scott looked devastated, his eyes only flicking to his Melissa's face for a second before he was back to ogling the passing staff.

"Well, sweetheart you brought 10 pairs" Melissa replied soothingly from her seat in the car. Scott huffed, still leaning into the passenger window.  
"But those shoes matched my favourite suit!" Scott protested, all Stiles could do was smother his laugh and climb out of the car, wincing as his legs ached in a dull protest.  
"This is not a tragedy." The Sheriff stated calmly, already out his the driver seat and stepping around the hood of the car, sunglasses in hand. He stopped beside Scott, his tone still calm and unaffected, "A tragedy is three men trapped in a mine or police dogs used in Birmingham."  
"Monks burning themselves in protest" Stiles adds, his hands exaggerating his words as his elbows rest on the roof of the car.  
"Butt out, Bambi" Scott ordered, his eyes squinting at Stiles in his usual scornful manner. _Best friends really_. He opened his mouth to throw some sarcastic but hilarious comment at Scott, but he was cut short as everybody's attention was drawn to a chubby guy wielding a megaphone. He seemed to be reading from the clipboard in his hands and on his head he wore a cap that read 'Kellerman's Mountain House', which as Stiles' looked closer, matched his thin burgundy cardigan. 

"Okay, we got horseshoes on the south lawn in 15 minutes!" He seemed to be addressing the scramble of visitors unloading their belongings onto the unfortunate staff nearest too them. As Stiles took in his surroundings, it seemed they were towards the back of a long line of arrivals. The whole place was swarming with activity, though at least half of the groups surrounding them seemed to be listening to the megaphone guy. "We've got splish-splash, the water class, down by the lake." The megaphone suddenly lets go of a high pitched whistle, but the guy steam rolls on, much to the annoyance of Stiles' ears. The guy is making his way down the pathway parallel to the one occupied by the current arrivals, his feet crunching over the stone. "We have the still life art class. We got volleyball and croquet." At the sound of the crowd reacting, Stiles turns fully, watching in amusement at the excitement this guy gives off. "And for you older folk, we got sacks!" Stiles chuffs out a laugh as the listening crowd cheers. _Thanks, but no thanks._ He heads towards the trunk of the car, pausing when he hears a familiar voice. 

"Sheriff!" A voice bellows, and Stiles recognises it instantly. He turns to to check he isn't wrong, and of course, it's Peter Kellerman.  
"Peter!" His dad replies from beside him, a smile on his lips. Stiles notices the tall guy beside Peter. His blue eyes and high cheekbones must have Scott mesmerised by now. Stiles doesn't even need to glance Scott's way to know he's probably staring.  
"It’s good to have you back!" Peter tells him, moving forward to shake the Sheriff's hand.  
"How's the business up here?" The Sheriff asks mockingly, returning the handshake good naturedly. Peter turns to Stiles and Scott in their place beside the Sheriff, and dips his head in a gesture of honesty.  
"I want you boys to know, that if it were not for this man, I’d be standing here but not as the owner of this entire place." Peter tells them solemnly. Stiles nods, remembering his dad talk of the court case between Peter and his ex-wife, Mrs Jane Kellerman. Stiles missed her. She always gave him sweets. Not nice tasting ones, but sweets all the same.  
"Isaac, get the bags." Peter tells the sandy haired body beside him, his tone unfriendly.  
"Right away Sheriff, Right away" Isaac nods, taking the keys the Sheriff hands him and moving towards the trunk.

"I kept the best cabin for you and your handsome boys" Peter informs the Sheriff, and Stiles can't help but think what kind of man compliments another man’s sons on their appearance? _Peter Kellerman, that’s who._ Stiles' can't stand listening to Peter for another second, so instead he follows Isaac to the trunk. Isaac lifts open the boot, reaching for the first suitcase in the pile and Stiles follows his lead, pulling out a somewhat smaller bag. Isaac is grinning beside him, placing the suitcase down the pavement.

“Hey, thanks a lot. You want a job here?" He chuckles. His eyes crinkle at the corners and his face beams, polite and innocent.  
Stiles can't help but laugh. Maybe these three weeks won't be so bad.


	2. Dance Lesson

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Here he was; slap bang in the centre of a group of 40 something’s all possessing two left feet. If he had to guess, Stiles would be almost certain there was less than five metaphorical right feet in his entire vicinity.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i know this has probably been done before but i wanted to put my own spin on it, okay.   
> theres probably much better versions i'm sure, but i really love this au. like with all my soul.

Stiles didn't know how it had happened between dropping the last of their things in the cabin and taking a stroll around the place to scope things out, but here he was; slap bang in the centre of a group of 40 something’s all possessing two left feet. If he had to guess, Stiles would be almost certain there was less than five metaphorical right feet in his entire vicinity.

“One, two, three, four! Stomp those grapes and stomp some more!” The merengue class was really more for fun, Stiles knew, but Scott had dragged him along, vowing that he would come out the other side with such a knew found skill in dancing that even the professionals would be jealous.  
Stiles can feel the repetitive thumping of feet hitting the wooden floor of the gazebo through the soles of his feet and although not one person in the room apart from their blonde bombshell of a teacher was actually in time to the music, it still played on from the speakers in the corner.  
It’s more a ramble of stomping sandals than any form of dancing Stiles is familiar with, but the dance teacher, _Erica_ , she’d insisted, continue calling out in time with the beats, coaxing those around her to try even harder in their vain attempts at impressing her.  
Stiles felt no sympathy for the old prunes.

So, maybe, Stiles couldn't dance, that didn't mean he was _bitter_ about it.  
He’s snapped out of daze when the large man on his right misses the beat. _had any of us actually hit the beat?_ He thinks despairingly, apologizing for the intrusion of his feet in the guy’s toe region and trying to catch on to what Erica was doing with her own body.  
"Move your caboose and shake it loose!” She cheers, sounding like she is having a lot more fun than Stiles believes she is. It can’t be fun teaching a group of morons where to put their feet.

Erica clutches the upper skirt of her soft looking pink dress, the white frilly underskirt bunching just above her knees. She’s standing a few feet ahead of the ramble of depressingly horrible want-to-be dancers and somehow, Stiles chalks it down to the fact that _oh yeah, she’s a professional_ ; is hitting every beat the music provides. He thinks he hears the words ‘start the train’ but Stiles is so caught up in shoving Scott subtly in an attempt to put him off and break that adorable concentration face he has plastered on, he doesn't quite catch the instruction Erica had called and he’s swept behind the Sheriff with a strangers hands on his hips.  
Stiles want’s to say he’s enjoying himself. He wants to, be he can’t. He can’t drown out the annoying off beat stomping happening all around him and even though he knows his entire family is enduring this too, he can’t help but want to shrug of the woman’s hands that rest gingerly on his hips. _Who knew dancing was this unenjoyable?_

Erica is cheering everybody on, bouncing around the middle of the messy train formed by the wrangle of dancing bodies. Her blonde hair curls around her shoulders perfectly. If Stiles wasn't so embarrassed about this entire situation, he wouldn't be able to stop himself from appreciating the perfect curves of her form or the effortless grace of her features. “Okay now ladies, when I say ‘stop,’ you’re gonna' find the man of your dreams.” she waves a hand in the air as if in warning, “Stop!”  
Stiles had been facing the Sheriff, turned around by the jumble of people trouncing about the room with glee. His comfort in the presence of his father is cut short when golden curls fill his view and all he knows is that Erica had lunged for the Sheriff, Melissa was bobbing happily with a short guy dressed in a checker shirt and Scott was nowhere in his view. 

_Oh, of course!_ Stiles thinks when a pair of wrinkled hands clasps his and he’s tapped on the nose with the edge of a far too large straw hat. The old lady is staring at him adoringly and Stiles couldn't say what expression he was sporting because his brain was too busy imagining all the types of humiliating things he’ll be undergoing for the rest of this trip. If this is anything to go off, Stiles thinks he might not make it. 

\---

The Cabin is on the edge of being a little too big, but Stiles really can’t fault it. The hanging plants smell faintly of lavender and only half the wooden floorboards creek under his feet. After the horrendous events (dance class) of the afternoon, Melissa had suggested they all head up to their cabin and unpack before heading to the restaurant for dinner. It’d taken Stiles all of five minutes to unpack. Half an hour of petulant boredom later, ultimately being interrupted by Scott’s constant whining about the _clothes he had packed himself, come on Scott!_ Stiles’ hand rests on the cool metal of the doorknob. 

The Sheriff had suggested Stiles help Scott and Stiles had found himself already opening the front door in his attempt to do anything but that.  
“I’m going up to the main house to look around” he’d called, hearing a distant chuckle from Melissa. Without waiting for a response, assured by Melissa’s amusement that he had been heard, Stiles hopped down the creaky steps of the cabin and skipped along the stones that lead the pathway down the hill. The Cabins neighbouring theirs were parallel in size, each surrounded by large trees and soothing spreads of green grass. From up here, Stiles’ could see the surrounding cabins, the abundance of trickling lakes that weaved around the hills and the main house in all its glory. Lights hung from the roof created a surreal glow along the immaculate brickwork and trees lined the front of the building, separated to give view of the lined windows. 

Birds and crickets alike chirped their appreciation to the late afternoon and Stiles wanted to join them. It seemed everyone had abandoned their activities of the day and headed inside, leaving a peaceful silence to fall over the rolling hills. Stiles remembered with a fond smilem, why he found himself agreeing to come here over and over again. Continuing up the path, Stiles spotted a few people strolling around. A small child with her parents and an old couple in striped deck chairs. He passed them with cheerful grins and headed towards the left side of the main house, making his way towards the balcony.

There was nothing he loved more than the view from up here, the wide stretch of the lake expanding towards the forest bordering the mountain get away. Stiles’ peaceful gratitude was interrupted by the cringing familiarity of Peter Kellerman’s voice drifting through the grand doors left a jar just behind his right shoulder.  
“There are two kinds of help here. You waiters are all college guys,” Stiles frowned in confusion, knowing he had no right to ease drop but continuing to peek through the door all the same. “And I went to Harvard and Yale to hire you. And why did I do that? Why?” Peter sounds like he’s prompting a group of five year old's to respond, his tone as unfriendly as it had sounded earlier when he had addressed Isaac, the sweet curly haired boy that had helped drag their bags up the Cabin. 

Through the gap in the door, Stiles has just enough cover to see in without being spotted. “I shouldn't have to remind you. This is a family place.” Peter is addressing a bundle of young men, all around Stiles’ age. Their shirts and blazers are a pristine white that appears almost harsh under the lenient lighting of the tabled room. Their shoulders are branded with gold cloth that matches the collar of their blazers, each with the buttons done up, pinching around their waists. A couple of the guys are sat at the table closest to Peter, looking casual but still on edge at Peter’s presence. The rest are huddled around him, their face’s serious. 

“The means you keep your fingers out of the water, your hair out of the soup, and show the god damn daughters a good time.” Stiles recoils at the uncouth words spilling from Peter’s mouth. He’d never known the way Peter ran things around here, but he doesn't find himself surprised. This was Peter he was thinking off. “All the daughters,” He continued, leaning close towards the guys who stood closest to him, “Even the dogs.” The waiters around Peter begin to show elusive signs of discomfort; shuffling in their places and glancing at one another.

“Schlep them out to the terrace, show them the stars.” Peter’s waving his hands around, smiling unattractively at the boys surrounding him, “Romance them any way you want.”  
"You guys got that?” An orotund voice calls from out of Stiles range of view, and something in his gut clenches at the thought of who might be behind that voice. Stiles’ imagination runs away from him a little and he almost doesn't notice the movement in the corner of the room, his attention caught by Peter shouting towards the figure wearing sunglasses and clenching a leather jacket casually thrown backwards over his right shoulder.

“Well if it isn't the entertainment staff,” Peter grouses, the air of obnoxious ass hole that clings to him doubling at the sight of a small band of new arrivals in basic staff t-shirts, all following behind the man still wearing sunglasses. He moves closer to Peter, listening whilst still wearing a blatant expression of boredom. Stiles imagination kicks itself because it didn't even reach half the level of fine this man beholds. His shoulders are broad and muscled, his neck thick and tanned. Stiles forgets to listen, Peter’s voice a buzzing in the background as Stiles eyes rake over the stranger that has his blood pumping three times faster than normal.

As he places his jacket in its new position over his forearm rather than his shoulder, Stiles is distracted by the biceps. Damn, he thinks over and over. The tight fitting T-shirt that Stiles notes is in fact just a plain forest green colour rather than a staff T-shirt, does nothing to hide the bulge of his muscles and Stiles hates everything because he cannot stop staring. He isn't sure how the man himself hasn't felt his gaze lingering on him, but Stiles doesn't care. His eyes are tracing over the high cheek bones, the short stubble, the thin nose; the god damn pout. He finds himself mentally cursing the inventor of sunglasses because all he wants right now is to see the dude’s eyes. Why is he even wearing sunglasses? It’s hardly sunny outside and he’s indoors. Stiles would roll his eyes but he finds himself too distracted.  
Stiles ears finally tune back in to Peter words and he hears him growl, “No funny business, no conversations, and keep your hands off!”  
Stiles would feel bad for the guy, because Peter voice is just on the edge of accusing, but the guy is staring at the ground, his jaw clenching. Oh my god, his jaw, Stiles thinks absently. 

One of the taller guys from the group behind the hot sunglasses guy says something sort of demeaning sounding, but Peter snaps “Watch it, Rodriguez” In a hostile tone and Stiles steps back a little from it.  
“So you think you can keep that straight Derek, what you can and can’t keep your hands on?” One of the white dressed waiters calls towards Derek, so that’s his name, and Stiles’ eyebrows draw together. It seems uncalled for, and Derek clenches his jaw again as the other waiters surrounding him chuckle indiscreetly.  
He shakes his head minutely before he steps forward, hands in the pockets of his trousers. “Just put your pickle on everybody’s plate college boy, and leave the hard stuff to me.” He tells the waiter, flicking a knife and fork sideways so that it lands on the worn floor with a resonating clank.

The chorus of ‘ooh’s' follow him, as Derek strides away seemingly unaffected by the sneering words thrown at him. Stiles nearly follows Derek, but then he remembers with a faint sigh that oops, he wasn't supposed to see any of this. It would be a huge lie if Stiles was to say he didn't spend the next few hours of his time constantly thinking back to the image of a 5 o'clock shadow and plush lips. So he found the guy intriguing, _sue him._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ya'll know where to find me, hoechlinitis.tumblr.com
> 
> Ya'll know what to do if you liked it ^.^


	3. Dinner and a dance

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry its been a while guys, you know where to find me hoechlinitis.tumblr.com

Peter meets the Sheriff at the grand double doors, opened wide for those eating indoors to still catch the fresh breeze that gently blows over the hills. In his usual ass kissing demeanour, Peter compliments Melissa’s dress and Scott’s well fitted suit and Stiles thinks desperately please don’t notice me. He didn't come to dinner to be complimented, he came for the _food._

After catching most of Peter’s earlier speech, directed at the staff milling around the family filled tables, Stiles doesn't feel entirely comfortable. He doesn't think he’d go as far as to act hostile towards them; after all they were only doing their job. If only their job wasn't provided by _Peter, urgh_. Stiles watches Peter closely as he pulls out Melissa’s chair and murmurs something about getting her the finest wine, and Stiles wishes he was old enough for wine too because he’d love some alcohol right about now.

“This is Sheriff and Mrs Stilinski” Peter informs the waiter hovering around Scott’s shoulder. His eyes hang on Scott’s face a lot longer than necessary and from his seat beside Scott, Stiles can tell easily from the blush creeping over his brothers cheekbones that Scott doesn't mind the gawking one bit. “Bambi, Scott, this is your waiter, Jackson Whittemore.” At the sound of his name, Jackson’s eyes flit towards Peter and then over Stiles, the Sheriff and when they land on Melissa he produces a coy smile that has Melissa grinning. Stiles eyes drift over Jackson; his perfectly symmetrical features and strong, defined jaw. Something doesn't sit right when Stiles looks at the guy, and it occurs to him whilst he’s mid sip of the room-temperature water in his glass; that Jackson is the waiter that had spoken to Derek earlier. Stiles fights the water that almost comes spurting out his mouth, forcing it down his throat and placing the glass on the table hastily. 

“Yale medical School.” Peter continues, and when the Sheriff makes an impressed noise in his throat, Peter smirks “Jackson, these people are my special guests. Give them anything they want.” Stiles almost requests a car to get himself away from Peter as fast as possible. “Enjoy.” Peter finishes, his hand resting over the button of his blazer as he bows forward slightly before heading towards another table, probably to schmooze some other customers, Stiles muses. Without Peter’s presence, Stiles finds himself having an average time. The food is good, great even. He does bristle slightly every time Jackson reappears, but at the sight of the waiters retreating back, Stiles manages to crack a joke and enjoy the time he gets to spend with his family. He scoffs down the courses placed in front of him, as does Scott; both earning a reprimand from Melissa about eating in public and getting food on their shirts. It was only the tiniest bit of sauce, Stiles bouts but the low “ _Bambi_ ” from his father shuts him up. 

The pudding is a delightful and if Stiles had any more room left in his stomach he would totally ask for seconds. He sits back in his chair, joining the others in their post meal haze. Melissa’s eyes wonder around the table, assessing the half-finished plates with of meat and vegetables, crumble and chocolate cake on them. Stiles hopes enthusiastically; that every night comes with a meal like this.  
“Look at all this leftover food. Are there still starving children in Europe?” Melissa contemplates, and for a nurse Stiles thinks she should at least have some knowledge of that kind of thing.  
“Try South East Asia, Mom” Stiles supplies.  
“Right” She nods.  
“Jackson, Bambi wants to send her leftover pot roast to Southeast Asia, so anything we don’t finish, you wrap up” The Sheriff jokes, and Stiles thinks If only, before watching Jackson closely for the thousandth time that night. He chuckles at the Sheriff politely, reaching for another plate to collect from the cramped table. Stiles refrains from rolling his eyes as he catches sight of Peter returning to their table. “Peter, our Bambi’s going to change the world” the Sheriff tells Peter, his tone full of pride that Stiles can’t stop himself from beaming at. Peter grins, somehow still seeming smug as he looks to Scott, placing a hand on his shoulder. 

“And what are you going to do, Scotty?” He asks. Stiles narrows his eyes thinking scornfully _only I call him Scotty_ , but he lets it go in favour of remaining the most sarcastic at the table.  
“Scotty’s going to decorate it.” Stiles chirps, his eyes softening as he looks towards his brother. As much as he whined, Stiles couldn’t help but love Scott. That and his innocent puppy dog look that got the Sherriff let him do whatever he pleased. Peter glances over his shoulder as if distracted, abruptly snapping his fingers and calling “Mahealani!” repeatedly before Stiles confusion is solved. A tall, well-built guy with tanned skin that matches Melissa’s and chestnut brown eyes that catch the light from the wall lamps effortlessly, makes his way towards them; sliding up beside Peter with a smirk. “Sheriff, I want you to meet someone. This is my Grandson, Danny.” Peter introduces, his arm falling over Danny’s shoulders. Peter is staring affectionately at the side of Danny’s face and Stiles finds it slightly dubious and by the looks of it, so does Danny. He glances up at their table, ignoring Peter as he smiles politely at Stiles and Scott in turn “Goes to the Cornell School of Hotel Management.” 

_Sheesh_ , Stiles feels instant pity for the guy. _He’s going to have to work for Peter before he actually inherits the place_.  
“Bambi’s starting Mount Holyoke in the fall.” The Sheriff tells Peter, and Stiles mentally yells no, don’t tell him where I’ll be, towards his father. He settles the Sheriff with a murderous look, smiling neutrally towards Danny as he utters ‘oh, great!’

When Danny’s eyes remain on him for too long, Stiles has to fight his eyebrows into staying apart, _what?! Is there food on my face?_ And as Danny raises his own eyebrows at him, Stiles’ confusion only grows. Scott’s foot is knocking his under the table and Stiles has a sudden growing sense of doom lingering in his chest. 

\--

 

Stiles is staring at his feet, horrified and embarrassed yet again because of dancing. Danny’s hand is big and warm, clasped gently around his but it does nothing to sooth the burn in Stiles’ cheeks. When the lights had dimmed and the waiters graciously asked everybody to move towards the ball room, Stiles could practically hear the universe sniggering but he’d soldier on, following his family through yet another set of grand doors. Danny and Peter had joined them; Peter sticking to the Sheriff’s hip during his attempt to sleaze his way closer to whatever it is he hoped to gain from their friendship. 

Ultimately, Danny had asked Stiles to dance after a nudge in the arm from Peter, and with a sorrowful look aimed at Melissa, Stiles had resigned to his fate and trailed behind Danny, heading towards the middle of the room. It was sad really, how much he disliked dancing. Danny was attractive. Tall and muscled, his navy blue suit well-fitting and if Stiles wasn’t as stupid as he was to be thinking about somebody else entirely, then he’d be stumbling around much like he already is; but for entirely different reasons than not knowing the simple steps.

Danny, _bless him_ , is trying to catch Stiles’ eye, tilting his head downwards and raising his eyebrows again. He doesn’t seem to know the steps either, but it doesn’t look to be bothering him all that much. Danny asks something about majoring in English, and Stiles shakes his head, raising his voice over the lurid trumpets.  
“No. Economics of underdeveloped countries, I’m going into the Peace Corps” Stiles explains, vaguely remembering to move one foot back. He catches sight of his parents just over Danny’s shoulder. Scott is peeping out from behind a guy’s shoulder; but Stiles can’t tell who it is. The sight of his family is a slight relief in the stuffy ball room.  
“After the final show, I’m going to Mississippi with a couple of busboys, freedom ride.” Danny raises his eyebrows again and Stiles realises that’s his _thing_. His tone signifies that this should impress Stiles somewhat, but Stiles can’t find it in himself to care. He doesn’t respond, deciding to concentrate on attempting to manoeuvre through the crowd of people around them without injuring himself. 

Stiles’ shoulder bumps someone behind and he shoots a glance backwards, his apology seemingly unnecessary as an old couple glide away, unaware of anybody but each other. His eyes catch the stage and he notices Peter is up there, interacting with the performer in the tap shoes. The guy swings Peter across the stage with him and he slows his steps, leading peter in a simple tapping routine. The dancing couples around Stiles break apart, clapping enthusiastically before grabbing their partners again.  
Stiles attention is caught by a young couple beside them and Danny’s eyes follow his to the girl in the bright yellow dress. She only looks around thirteen and the boy even younger. They move like professionals, even though the music seems to be ending. He leans over and she follows, bending backwards over his knee which looks all kinds of uncomfortable for people of their height. Stiles forgets he’s supposed to be dancing too, but who really cares because if twelve year olds can do it and he can’t, then _what is the point?_

A familiar beat follows not seconds after the end of the slower music they’d been dancing too, and a thrill of excitement seems to jolt through the crowd around him.  
“Mambo! Yeah! Come on!” Danny cheers, clutching his hands excitedly. Stiles wants to shake his head, but the look of pure eagerness in Danny’s eyes sways him enough to lay his hands back on Danny’s upper arm and begin moving to the beat.

As the music climbs, Stiles attention is drawn towards the new figures moving around the centre of the ball room. Stiles thinks _Erica?_ , but the woman wearing the thin pink draping material is so poised and _flexible_ , that Stiles’ is sure it’s not the same woman that bounced around earlier teaching him new stomping routines. Stiles can’t catch a good look at the man’s face either, but he’s already impressed. Their dancing impeccably, moving fluidly together and Stiles wishes he could be half as impressive.  
“Who’s that?” He thinks Danny should have a good idea, because Stiles is certain that the couple dancing in the centre of the room are not holidays goers like himself.  
“Oh, them” Danny says with a put-upon sigh. “They’re the dance people.” He says, like that explains who they actually are. Stiles frowns slightly, and Danny explains further “They’re here to keep the guests happy.” 

Stiles nods, but he’s too engrossed in the couple that move together like they’re part of one another to really pay attention to Danny any more. The other couples have all moved to the edges of the room, creating a large space that the ‘dance people’ use to their advantage. They don’t miss a single step; so in sync that Stiles wants to know if they’re telepathic because _they must be_.  
“They shouldn't be showing off with each other. That’s not going to sell lessons.” Danny chastises, but Stiles still can’t find it in himself to care much about what he’s saying. Stiles catches a few glimpses of the woman’s face and he’s shocked to find that it is Erica. With a dramatic kick that sends her leg parallel to her head, Stiles is practically entranced.  
After a series of dramatic lifts and twirls that Stiles can’t imagine to be possible, they both look slightly distracted for a second, before they break apart; each heading to opposite sides of the room a grabbing someone new to start some basic steps with.

It’s only an hour later that Stiles is clutching a chicken with a glazed expression and the Sheriff is chuckling at him, taking the bird from Stiles’ arms with a snort. Before anyone else can catch him and do something like _talk to him_ , Stiles practically runs out the closest door. The air is crisp and cool in his lungs and Stiles breaths in heavily, grateful for the quiet peacefulness that waits outdoors. At the sound of footsteps from behind, Stiles ducks away, vowing that there’d be no more interactions for him tonight, not after _the magic show_.

He notices the sign that reads ‘Staff quarters no guests please’ and thinks, _perfect, no one will follow me_. The path is gravelled under his dress shoes, stump lamps lining the sides of the pathway, each separated about a metre apart. Stiles lets the soft lights guide him, not caring about getting lost or having permission to be in certain areas. He just walks, enjoying the repetitive crunch of earth under his feet.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thanks for reading!
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> i love you all :3:3:3


	4. Watermelons

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> heads up lovelies i'm taking a little break from this fic but if you're enjoying it don't jump ship just yet because i will certainly be coming back to it asap.   
> i love you all for reading and liking and commenting and just being awesome

A sense of calm that comes from the gently sweeping breeze and the soft rustle of leaves on the swaying trees helps Stiles’ mind wind down from the high level of frustration it’d previously been upholding. The pathway leads him through sections of trees that shelter Stiles from the moonlight temporarily. He doesn’t panic when he reaches certain areas where no light penetrates, nothing about this place could ever be scary to him. 

He’s slowly making his way down a shallow hill, his eyes tracing over the small creek a few metres ahead. There’s a short wooden bridge, painted white. At the edge of the bridge, a steep hill forms, stone steps lodged in the side. It leads up towards boxed, deep red cabins that must be the staff quarters the sign had been referring to. Stiles doesn’t know if he should really get too close in case somebody sees him, but the pull of the night encourages him to keep moving forward. He doesn’t really care if he gets caught, the worse they’ll do is tell him he’s not meant to be there. As if he didn’t already know that.

Seemingly from nowhere, a recognizable figure appears and if the way he’s handling a set of watermelons didn’t give it away, then the outline of curls atop his head would have called it. Stiles quickens his pace, jogging to catch up with Isaac who’s making his way towards the small bridge.   
“Hey, Hi!” Stiles calls, slowing to a stop as Isaac turns, his surprised expression partially blocked by the armful of watermelons. _What kind of party needs three watermelons?_ Stiles asks himself, and it sounds so much like the start of a joke Stiles almost laughs at Isaac’s response.   
“How’d you get here?” Isaac queries, adjusting his grip on the three large fruits.   
“I was taking a walk” Stiles explains, watching Isaac’s struggle with the watermelons sceptically.  
“Go back” Isaac insists, his tone serious. His curls of flopping into his eyes and Stiles is sure if he doesn’t help then at least two of these watermelons won’t make it to where they are supposed to be going. 

“Let me help you.” Stiles offers, moving to grab one of the fruits from Isaac’s hold.  
“No” He insists, but doesn’t fight Stiles of, instead bunching the remaining watermelons closer to his chin. Now he’s closer, Stiles notes the hum of music coming from up the hill Isaac was headed towards, and his curiosity takes over.  
“What’s up there?” He asks, still certain its mainly just staff housing.  
“No guests allowed. House rules.” Isaac states still looking like he’s on the verge of dropping the watermelons. “Why don’t you go back to the playhouse?” He suggests, glancing back in the direction Stiles had come, “I saw you dancing with the little boss man” He sing songs, begging a nonsense hum and swaying back a forth sarcastically.   
Stiles rolls his eyes and thinks, _fine, it’s not like I wanted to help you anyway_ , and pushes the single watermelon back towards Isaac, who bends backwards slightly in order to balance it on the two pressed against his chest. Stiles hastily makes sure Isaac has hold of it before turning on his heel. He only makes it a few steps before his ears pick up on a light hearted sigh. 

“Can you keep a secret?” Isaac calls. He’s too kind for his own good, Stiles berates appreciatively, but he’s already turned to face Isaac, nodding with a faint smile.  
Isaac’s azure eyes flick down to the watermelons and then back to him, and Stiles quickly moves to take one from him again, still wondering _why someone would need three watermelons in the first place_. “Your parents would kill you” Isaac assures him, but Stiles thinks that they would have done that a long time ago if they could. “Peter would kill me.” He finishes, defeated. Stiles shrugs slightly, but he’s certain that after less than twenty four hours of knowing this curly haired, baby blue eyed kid, that he would do anything to stop him from being killed. 

Isaac heads towards the stepped hill and Stiles follows his lead, wondering what it is Isaac is referring to that would end in his death. _Was he selling drugs? is he taking me to a drug house? Is that what the watermelons are for?!_

Isaac doesn’t share any other information as he guides Stiles through small pathways between cabins and around winding corners. Finally, they make it to the steps of a large cabin, un painted with large red double doors. The doors aren’t as grand as those in the main house, but Stiles wouldn’t expect them to be, really. Isaac glances at Stiles again, shaking his head minutely in a ‘I’m going to be in so much trouble’ gesture. Before Stiles can ask what’s so bad that he’d die if anyone found out, Isaac uses his butt to push the doors wide. Doing so causes him to almost drop both watermelons. It’s quite a sight.

Behind the doors, there are bodies. Not dead bodies. Dancing bodies. _What is it with all the dancing around here?!_ He chides mentally. He eyes are roaming over the grinding hips and the alarmingly close proximity of each couples crotches. The Contours are playing _loud_ , filling the already cramped cabin.   
It’s not the beer or the smoking or the volume of the music that has Stiles jaw dropping. It’s the dancing. It’s more grinding really, than actual dancing. Stiles’ has never really seen anybody move like this, let alone more than one couple. There’s all kinds of people here, and they all look so _alive_. 

He’s still stood beside Isaac in the doorway, and he can tell he’d been shooting Stiles worrying glances over his shoulder, waiting for Stiles to say something.   
“Where’d they learn to do that?” Is what Stiles asks.  
“Where?” Isaac repeats, his voice drowned in the music “I don’t know,” He shrugs “Kids are doing it in their basements back home.” He explains, and Stiles can’t picture it. Their basement was full of storage stuff. Like old clothes and photo albums. Isaac shifts the watermelons again, smirking at him. “Wanna’ try it?” He offers, bumping Stiles’ shoulder. Stiles shakes his head sharply. _If I can’t dance normally, then I definitely can’t do this._  
“Come on, Bambi.” Isaac huffs, sounding amused. He moves through the crowd and there is nothing for Stiles to do but to follow him. He tries to avoid everybody, keeping his eyes down. He gets repeatedly distracted by the constant pelvis thrusts happening around him, and only a few people provide him with a look that snaps his eyes back to the floor, but Stiles’ is sure the watermelon in his arms isn’t helping things. 

Isaac has found a place for the watermelons behind the wall of grinding bodies, his elbows already resting over the tiny wooden table. Stiles deposits the watermelon in his hands onto the rickety, peeling wood and straightens up again, his shoulder Brushing Isaac’s. “Could you imagine this of the main floor, home of the family foxtrot?” Isaac’s voice is a soothing hum over the blaring music, and Stiles nerves drop a little at knowing he’s beside him. “Peter would close the place down first.”  
Stiles is thinking of a reply, some way to tell Isaac he’s okay with what’s happening, in a way he’s sure Peter would not be, but he’s not really comfortable being in the centre of it. Before he can think of an elaborate reply, the crowd erupts in cheers that ring clear over the music. Stiles sways slightly to the left and right, trying to get a look at who caused the excitement. When his eyes catch the figures that have reached the middle of the makeshift dance floor, his heart fumbles in his chest. 

Derek and Erica are dancing together again. The crowd is moving around them with invigorated fervour and Stiles can’t tear his eyes away. There’s a clenching sensation his gut and he’s sure that he’s staring so hard he might strain his eyes but the way they are moving. Isaac seems excited by the arrival of the two, moving around Stiles. “That’s my cousin, Derek Hale!” He exclaims, pointing toward Derek. “He got me the job here.”

Stiles is still watching Derek and Erica move, partly jealous but mostly just impressed.   
“They look great together” He muses aloud and Isaac nods feverishly.  
“Yeah” He agrees, staring too. “You’d think they were a couple, wouldn’t you?” Isaac’s words take a few seconds to wash over Stiles, and he’s frowning back at Isaac.   
“Aren’t they?” He asks, because look at them, _they move like a couple_.   
“No, not since we were kids.” Isaac tells him, and the clenching in Stiles gut switches to something foreign, a more airy feeling that has him squirming slightly.   
Erica is up on Derek’s shoulders in a way that screams _sex, sex, sex._ The crowd is singing along, the words slurred and blocked by cigarettes. The room is misty with smoke and the smell of alcohol, sweat and pleasure that fills Stiles up in a way he’s never experienced before. He finds that the awkwardness he’d felt earlier has settled into something like curiosity ad although he still feels entirely out of place, _he wants to join in._  
The song ends and the crowd woops with exhilaration, not seconds later Otis Redding fills Stiles’ ears and the crowd is grinding again. Stiles’ eyes stick to Derek as he dances through the crowd, sparing a turn for each lady he passes. His eyes tack on Stiles’ and the annoying buzz in Stiles’ veins amps up tenfold. Before Stiles has a chance to duck and run, Derek is hip checking Isaac. 

“Yo, Couz’ what’s he doing here?” He asks, tone hard as he nods towards Stiles. Stiles wishes he could sink into the ground and join the spilt beer and half smoked cigarettes. Isaac smiles reassuringly towards him, dimples not half as heartening as they wore minutes ago.   
“He’s came with me. He’s with me” Isaac tells him, looking proud of himself. _Too kind for his own good._ Stiles thinks again, chiding himself. Why’d he have to force Isaac to let him come along? This whole situation was his own fault, but somehow he feels that Derek could make it less awkward. If he didn’t look so angry, maybe. Derek doesn’t say anything for a good few seconds. _You’ve never spoken to him before. So, this is your chance at an incredibly first impression. Say something sexy. Something endearing. Something that won’t make him want to punch you._

“I carried a watermelon.”

Derek stares back at him for a second longer, before turning away. He heads back into the crowd and Stiles hangs his head. _“I carried a watermelon?!”_ He repeats to himself, knowing how stupid he sounded. There goes his first impression. _Why me, God. Why me?_

Derek is dancing with Erica again and Stiles is sure anything is better than talking to him considering all he can say in the face of someone he finds outstandingly attractive is some rubbish about his ability to move fruit from one place to another.   
Stiles still stares though. Boy, does he stare. At Derek’s hips swaying and his hair bouncing; his feet shifting and his thighs tensing. He stares mostly at the chest exposed by Derek’s unbuttoned shirt. This time, Derek does notice the staring and all Stiles can do is stare some more. He’s heading towards him and Stiles almost backs away, but that voice in his head murmurs _what if this is your only chance?_

Derek is a few feet away, and he’s smirking at Stiles. He raises his finger in a ‘come here’ gesture and is Stiles really anyone to deny this man of anything whatsoever? Derek clasps his hands, gentler than Stiles expected and Stiles shoots Isaac a last glance before he’s hauled into the crowd, finding it hard to remember how to make his legs work when Derek’s fingers are touching his fingers. Derek murmurs orders about bending his knees and pulling his shoulders down, but Stiles’ can’t concentrate much when Derek’s hands and touching him. His expression doesn’t seem to change much, like he’s wearing a mask. Stiles’ copies Derek’s hip movements, understanding that it mainly concludes of thrusting and swirling your hips. But all the understanding in the world lends him no favours.  
“Watch. Watch my eyes” Derek demands, and Stiles wants to protest. How can he do anything when Derek is this close to him? Stiles copies Derek all the same and their hips brush on some rolls. Stiles is extremely worried about what might be happening in his pants, and Derek pulls Stiles arms around his neck. The crowd is roaring around him, singing with Otis and dancing dirty with one another. Stiles is sure he’s never felt anything like this before but he knows that he is _loving it._  
Derek is nodding at him, a smile tugging at the side of his lips, and Stiles wants to do something crazy like swoop forward and kiss him. But even he knows that’s a little too much and it would ruin everything. So he sticks with rolling his hips with Derek’s and trying to focus on the beat blasting through his bones.


End file.
